“Thank you, Collins. And port,” I added.
His steely grey brows lifted almost imperceptibly. “Port, Miss Speedwell?” His training was too good to permit any display of the shock he must have been feeling.
The countess smiled and even Lady MacIver, more serious and reserved than her American counterpart, seemed to unbend a little. Miss Gresham looked as if she were wrestling with her conscience and I wondered if her abstinence at dinner meant she was teetotal.
“Port,” I repeated firmly. “Perhaps the same vintage his lordship is serving in the dining room?”
Collins pursed his lips. “If I may, Miss Speedwell, his lordship prefers ruby, but there is a particularly fine vintage of tawny I have only just decanted?” He let his voice trail off hopefully, and I grinned.
“Excellent suggestion, Collins. We will have the tawny.”
“Very good, miss.” He bowed his way out of the room, returning a very short while later with the promised decanter and a tray of glasses. A young footman trotted behind with a tray. “I have taken the liberty of bringing a Stilton as well as some dried fruits and a dish of almonds, roasted to bring out the flavour of the port,” Collins advised, nodding towards the accompaniments with an air of satisfaction.
I thanked him and he withdrew as I poured out for the other ladies. The countess raised her glass. “Do forgive me for preempting you, Miss Speedwell, but I should like to propose a toast. To friends, old and new.”
We lifted our glasses in response and sipped. The vintage port was smooth as caramel velvet, and the countess gave a little sigh. “How delicious,” she murmured as she put the glass aside. “And now some peppermint tea, I think,” she said apologetically. She did seem a trifle delicate, and I wondered if she were possibly expecting. That might account for her husband’s attentiveness as well as her slight fragility.
As if intuiting my thoughts, she blushed a pretty rose pink. “I am not with child. But I am often indisposed. My heart is not strong, for which I take a tonic, and frequently my digestion troubles me,” she explained as I rang. “At home I eat very simply, a vegetarian diet with a little fish and no wine. Dinner tonight was a trifle rich.”
“Then peppermint tea is just the thing,” Miss Gresham told her firmly. “Or a nice ginger tisane.” They fell to discussing remedies until Collins appeared bearing a small pot steaming fragrantly with the crisp, green scent of peppermint. The countess took a small bottle of smoke-coloured glass from her pocket. It was a pretty thing, shaped like a pilgrim’s cockleshell and small enough to fit into the palm of her hand. She twisted off the silver cap and poured a measure of liquid into her cup. “My tonic,” she said with a smile. She sweetened the concoction with a drop of honey and settled back against the cushions with a sigh as she sipped. “That is better.”
Lady MacIver, having finished her first glass of port with startlingrapidity, held it out for a second measure. I obliged her and poured another for Miss Gresham, who had gone very red about the cheeks. The flush suited her, but as I handed her the glass, I saw that her eyes were gently crossed.
“Thank you, Miss Speedwell.” Lady MacIver regarded us thoughtfully over the rim of her glass. “I think, as we are so small a party, we might be familiar, do you not agree? I am Augusta.”
“Veronica,” I told her.
“Beatrice,” the countess added, using the English pronunciation of her name. She smiled. “Or Bey-ah-tri-chey if you want to sound like my husband.”
Miss Gresham hesitated, then blurted out, “Elspeth.” She gave a dainty little hiccup.
“A good Scots name,” Augusta told her kindly. “And after all, we did meet long ago, did we not?”
“That we did,” Elspeth agreed.
Augusta turned back to Beatrice, cocking her head. “Have you been married long, my dear? Only the count seems terribly smitten. Like a newly wedded bridegroom.”
Beatrice gave a low, throaty laugh. “More than a year, yet the happiness does not pall. And yes, he is entirely smitten.” Her smile was one of feline contentment. “Pietro is a tremendous romantic. All Italians are, I daresay. And so dramatic! He is forever picking little quarrels just so we can have a few slammed doors and then make it all up with a pretty bauble he has bought for me. It is thoroughly exhausting.” But she said this with another smile, and it was clear the count and countess were devoted to one another.
Augusta held her glass between her palms. “Then he is not changed from when I knew him,” she said.
Beatrice sat up a little straighter. “Yes, you said you were here the last time he visited. That means you knew him as a young man. Bothof you did,” she added with a conspiratorial glance at Elspeth. “You must tell me all of his secrets.”
Augusta laughed at Beatrice’s question. “There is not much to tell. I met him only once. Here,” she said, glancing about. “It is quite strange to come back to Cherboys after so much time has passed. Twenty years gone now—it was the summer before James and I were married.”
“The famous Grand Tour of the Seven Sinners!” Beatrice crowed. Her garnet earrings fairly danced as she laughed. “Pietro has told me all about that trip. What laughs they had together. That is why we are all here now, is it not?”
She looked from Augusta to me and back again. “Yes, a reunion of sorts, Tiberius tells me,” I replied. I was aware of Elspeth quietly draining her glass of port as the rest of us talked. “I believe Tiberius has planned a special dinner to honour the memory of those who have since been lost,” I said.
Beatrice gave me a tight smile. “How very kind.” I raised a brow and she sighed. “Forgive me. That was churlish. Of course Pietro should be here to mourn with the others. It is just that I had hoped to see England properly, you understand. It is my first time here. I wanted to take in all the famous sights of London, the Tower, Buckingham Palace, the Houses of Parliament. I was thinking only of myself. A common American failing,” she added with a flicker of mischief in her expression.
I smiled back to show I bore her no ill will and Augusta hastened to reassure her as well. “You must come to us in London. I will host a dinner for you and introduce you to anyone you care to meet.”
Beatrice fairly glowed with excitement. “Royalty! Do you know any royalty?”
Augusta demurred, but I spoke up on her behalf. “Sir James tells me you recently hosted the Prince of Wales on your grouse moor.”
Beatrice nearly upset her teacup in her enthusiasm. “The Prince of Wales! Did you really?”
